The night had a way of swallowing the mansion whole.
Corridors were silent, except for the faint hum of the city beyond the thick walls.
The chandeliers cast long, golden shadows over the polished floors, and the air was heavy-charged with anticipation, with danger, with a heat that made my skin ache.
I had spent the evening avoiding him, trying to contain the fire that had begun to simmer between us since earlier that day. The almost-touch, the whispered confessions, the way his gaze lingered too long... it had set something inside me alight. Something I couldn't ignore. Something I didn't want to ignore.
But tonight, I wouldn't have the luxury of ignoring it. The night refused to let me sleep. No matter how tightly I closed my eyes, Luciano De Luca followed me into the dark. His voice. His gaze. The way the air between us had felt too charged to survive untouched. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, skin humming with awareness, my body betraying me in ways I didn't yet know how to control.
I had crossed a line the moment I didn't pull away.
And somehow, I knew-Luciano had felt it too. The summons came just after midnight.
A soft knock. Two sharp raps. No announcement. No explanation. That alone told me who it was from. No one else in this house knocked like that. No one else expected obedience without question.
My pulse spiked as I slipped out of bed, wrapping a robe around myself with trembling fingers. I told myself it was fear. Only fear. But my body knew better.
The hallway was dim, lights low, shadows stretching long along the walls. Every step felt like a countdown. Every breath tasted heavier. By the time I reached the study, my heart was racing so fast it felt like it might expose me before I ever opened the door. I hesitated. Then I knocked.
"Come in," Luciano's voice answered-low, calm, dangerous.
He was standing when I entered. No jacket. Shirt sleeves rolled up. Tie loosened, hanging undone around his neck. The sight of him like that-unarmored, relaxed, lethal-hit me harder than I expected. This was not the man the world saw. Not the cold king behind bulletproof glass and whispered orders. His presence filled the room before he even spoke. The way he leaned against the doorframe, shoulders relaxed but tension coiled in his body like a predator ready to strike, made my pulse spike.
This was something else.
Something far more dangerous.
"You took your time," he said quietly, eyes never leaving mine.
"I was asleep," I replied, forcing steadiness into my voice.
His gaze dipped. Slowly. Deliberately. Taking me in. Not the way a captor assessed property-but the way a man notices a woman for the first time and cannot look away.
"I doubt that," he said.
Heat crept up my neck. "Why did you call for me?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he walked toward me. Unhurried. Controlled. Each step closing the distance until my back brushed the door behind me.
"Because," he said softly, "you've been in my head all night." The words hit harder than a shout.
Luciano De Luca did not admit weakness. Did not confess distraction. And yet here he was, standing too close, eyes dark, voice stripped of mockery or threat.
"You're distracting," he continued, almost to himself. "And I don't tolerate distractions." "Then let me go," I whispered.
His jaw tightened. "That's the problem," he said. "I don't want to."
Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I could feel the heat of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest. My senses sharpened painfully-the faint scent of his cologne, the soft rustle of fabric when he shifted, the way his attention pressed against me like a physical weight.
"You changed," he said suddenly. I frowned. "Changed?"
"Yes." His eyes traced my face slowly. "You stopped shrinking. Stopped lowering your gaze. Stopped moving like you were waiting for permission to exist." I swallowed. "You don't own my spirit."
A dangerous smile curved his lips. "No," he agreed. "But I want to."
His hand lifted. I flinched before I could stop myself.
Luciano noticed.
His hand froze midair.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
I did. "Elena." His voice was low, dangerous, smooth. Every syllable pressed against my nerves. "You're avoiding me."
I swallowed, heart hammering. "I-"
"Don't." He stepped closer, cutting off my words with the weight of his gaze. "Don't try to talk your way out of what's happening here. I see it. You feel it. Don't lie to me."
I shivered, though I wasn't sure if it was fear, anticipation, or desire. Probably all three. And for the first time since I had entered his world, I saw something raw beneath the control. Hunger. Conflict. A restraint stretched so tight it threatened to snap.
He closed the distance between us with an unhurried, deliberate pace. I could feel the heat radiating from him. His dark eyes tracked every movement, every subtle shift in my stance. I tried to maintain control, tried to hold onto the defiance that had kept me alive for so long. But under his gaze, under his presence, defiance felt impossible.
"I can't stop noticing you," he whispered, just above a breath. "The way you move, the way you look at me, the way you... make me lose control without even touching me."
I swallowed, the heat rising in my chest. "You shouldn't be doing this," I whispered, even as my chest ached with want.
He stepped closer, the space between us shrinking until our bodies were almost touching. "I know," he murmured, voice husky. "And yet..." His lips brushed mine in a whisper, a ghost of a kiss, a promise. "...I can't stop myself, "I can't help it," he said, voice low, rough, urgent. "And I don't want to."
The moment stretched, taut and electric. My hands lifted instinctively, fingers brushing against his chest-not daring, not fully, but enough to feel the strength, the heat, the pull of him.
"I won't hurt you," he said. "Not like that."
"Then why does it feel like you're about to?" I asked.
"Because," he murmured, lowering his hand to brush just beneath my chin, not quite touching, "wanting someone is its own kind of violence."
That did it.
Something inside me shifted. Cracked. The fear was still there-but it no longer ruled me. I lifted my chin instead of lowering it.
"You keep saying you don't lose control," I said softly. "But you're losing it right now." His breath hitched.
Danger flashed across his face.
"You shouldn't provoke me," he warned.
"I think," I whispered, "you want me to." The space between us collapsed.
His hand came to my waist, firm, decisive, pulling me closer until there was no mistaking the heat between our bodies. My breath caught sharply, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt without permission.
Luciano groaned under his breath.
"Fuck," he muttered, the word rough, unguarded.
His forehead rested against mine, eyes closed, jaw clenched as if he were physically restraining himself.
"I've taken cities," he said hoarsely. "Broken men twice my size. Ordered deaths without losing sleep. And you-" He exhaled sharply. "You undo me by standing there and looking at me like that."
"Like what?" I whispered.
"Like you're not afraid of me."
His lips brushed mine.
Not a kiss.
A test.
A question.
My body answered before my mind could intervene. I leaned in that final fraction, breath mingling with his.
The kiss shattered restraint.
Luciano claimed my mouth with a hunger that stole my breath, his hand tightening at my waist as if anchoring himself. The kiss wasn't gentle-it was controlled, deliberate, consuming. Every movement spoke of restraint barely held, desire barely contained. I melted into him, gasping softly as his lips moved against mine, slow and deep and devastating. My knees weakened. His arm slid around my back, holding me upright, keeping me exactly where he wanted me.
Owned.
Wanted.
Chosen. The moment stretched, taut and electric. My hands lifted instinctively, fingers brushing against his chest-not daring, not fully, but enough to feel the strength, the heat, the pull of him.
He groaned softly, a sound low and dangerous, vibrating through the space between us. His hand slid from my cheek to my neck, fingers curling slightly, tilting my face toward him. The intensity of his gaze pinned me, made my knees weak, my breath shallow.
"Do you feel this?" he asked, voice low, rough, intimate. "The tension. The fire between us. The... pull that neither of us can deny?"
I nodded slightly, unable to speak. My pulse raced, blood pounding in my ears.
"Yes," I whispered. "...I feel it."
That was all he needed.
He closed the distance fully, lips meeting mine with a heat and urgency that stole my breath. The kiss was soft at first, teasing, exploratory, but it held a danger, a hunger, a claim that made my body respond instantly. I melted into him, hands clutching at his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.
He groaned again, low and rough, pressing closer, tilting my head, deepening the kiss. Every brush of lips, every gentle nip of teeth, every flick of his tongue against mine sent sparks through me, making my skin tingle, my heart race, my body ache in ways I hadn't allowed myself to feel before.
I was no longer defiant. Not really.
I was consumed.
When he finally pulled back, just enough to breathe, I could feel the heat lingering, the tension crackling, the world narrowing to the space between us.
"You're mine," he said, voice low and possessive.
"Every inch of you.
Every heartbeat.
Every breath.
Do you understand?"
"Yes," I whispered, almost trembling. "...I understand."
"Good." His lips brushed mine again, just a whisper of a touch, and I shivered in response.
"Because I won't apologize for what I feel. I won't hide it; and neither will you; not anymore."
The danger of this world-Luciano's world-was still real. Every night brought threats, enemies circling, schemes unfolding. And yet, in this moment, all that mattered was the man before me, the fire between us, the claim he had made, and the desire I could no longer deny. My defiance had ended. My independence, in small acts, had dissolved. Beneath his command, beneath his power, beneath his lips and hands and eyes... I had crossed a line. And I didn't want to go back.
He pulled me closer again, hands on my waist now, drawing me impossibly tight against him. The kiss deepened, urgent, claiming, a declaration as much as an exploration. Every heartbeat, every gasp, every shiver was a confirmation: we had crossed into something that could not be undone.
And I loved it.
Feared it.
Wanted it.
Later, lying awake in the quiet of my room, I could still feel him. His hands, his lips, the rough warmth of his body pressed against mine in memory. Every nerve ending felt electrified, alive, alert.
Luciano had crossed the line. And so had I. The defiance that had kept me alive was gone. Replaced by something more dangerous. Something hotter.
Something utterly, irreversibly... ours.